Talisman: The Drinking Game

It was a filthy, awful hole. The furniture was ancient, the carpets torn and the wallpaper peeling. There was food mouldering in the fridge when we moved in. But it was cheap and so it was home. It consisted of two rooms. One was a kitchen diner with a bed in it. The other, mine, was a bedroom with an en-suite toilet. I used to lie in bed in the mornings, listening to my flat-mate take a dump while I smoked cigarettes to cover the smell.

My small collection of games lived on a high shelf in the airing cupboard. It was all I could do to keep them from the nightmare of the rest of the place.